it's not like i'll be gone forever
by kanmuri
Summary: Morning is a time of making love and goodbyes. Too bad Madara isn't very good at either. MadaHashi, spoilers up to 625. Mostly PWP.


Title: it's not you it's the both of us

Pairing/s: MadaHashi

Disclaimer: Kishimoto is the reason I am currently shipping dead gay shinobi from the past. I really hate him.

Summary: "_you're twice as sweet as summer rain."_

* * *

"Oi. Wake up. You're the Hokage, you jerk, you oughtta at _least_ be able to wake yourself up in the morning without me pissing on you."

You don't know why you say these things. Maybe you're just stupid. Yeah, everybody go home, Uchiha Madara is a fucking idiot; surprise! The kid they called 'genius' can't even talk right when a certain mop-top Senju is around. Even when said mop-top is sleeping. With drool coming out of his mouth.

You stoop down and push back his hair. You don't touch the drool – _wow_ that is nasty. The brown locks curl around your fingers (_so long, when did they get so long? Sometime when you were fighting and screaming and flinging curses at him. Sometime when you were dying and hating him with all of your being. Sometime when you realized you loved him – when you hated and loved him all at once)_, and you heave a heavy sigh.

"Hey, I'm serious. I really will piss on you if you don't wake up."

"Mph," comes the eloquent reply.

You snort and sit back on your heels. _This _is the man the people wanted to lead them? They'd be better off electing one of the Hatakes' ninja pups. Seriously.

"Don't tell me you're crying under there," you say to the ruffled lump of blankets before you. "I'll kick your ass, I mean it this time."

"You won't piss on me," mumbles the lump. "You can't piss when people are watching."

You shrug. "True. But no one's watching me right now, are they? For all you know I could be stark naked and – "

The blankets fly off with a _whoosh!_ "You wouldn't –!" Hashirama is saying before he even opens his eyes. He tries to say more, but then you're laughing out loud, and Hashirama looks up at you in confusion.

"Rise and shine, dumbass," you say – fully clothed, thank you very much. "Breakfast is out on the table."

Hashirama looks pretty good in the mornings, you think to yourself secretly. His hair is wild and untamed – so different from that old dorky haircut – but it sticks up all the same. His eyes are bleary, droopy, tired. His mouth opens wide in an 'O', revealing gleaming white teeth. Strange for war time. Strange for anytime, to be so pure and clean, but it's Hashirama, so you're not really surprised.

Today is the day you tell him, you think.

Today is not going to be pleasant.

You find yourself grimacing, and force it back into an almost-normal frown. The expression is familiar, and comforting, and you could almost wish things were the same as they were a week ago, a month ago, a life ago. You almost wish he were your enemy. You almost wish you could hate him.

Hate? No, you never hated him.

"Where's Tobirama?" he asks with a yawn.

You really _do _grimace this time, and don't bother hiding it. "Why should I care about that piss-poor excuse for a –"

"Hey! Be nice," says Hashirama. "Yes, he's a piss-poor excuse for a cook, but he makes excellent ribs."

You're filled with anger, suddenly. Why can't he see? He loves you, you know that, but why can't Hashirama see how _very much _this is not going to work? He's totally clueless. It makes you ache, but whether in hatred or in longing you're not sure.

You stare at him, and he stares at you, and it hits you hard how very differently you see things.

"Madara –" he begins.

"Shut up," you say.

In the next instant, you've got him pinned by the far wall. And Hashirama is much, much stronger than you, always has been, always will be, so you know he's gotta be okay with this, because he doesn't struggle or shout or let out anything other than a startled yelp. You dig your teeth into his lip, and all he manages is a meek, "Breakfast?"

"Later," you growl.

You claw your way down his barren neck and slide your hand into his night-cloak. You hit the knot that loops around it, and, frustrated, you rip it off and send it sailing to the floor. Hashirama's sounding kind of nervous, but those sounds are drowned out with a moan when you at last find his swollen cock, already half-hard with (_hah!_) morning wood.

"Definitely later," he agrees, his voice breathy and deep.

With a grunt in acknowledgement, you make for the rest of this cloak. Fuck, this would be so much easier if the Senju didn't wear fucking _fifteen layers of nerd-shiting clothing, _you think. Off with the cloak. Off with the shirt. Off with the under shirt, and the stupid parachute pants, and _finally _you've reached your destination.

You're suddenly absurdly grateful the Senju have never heard of underwear.

Your right hand grips his cock again, except this time it is open and free and jumping slightly with a jet of cool air. "Oh," you hear Hashirama say as you immediately kneel down before him. "You don't have to…"

"I'm not," you reply, raising an eyebrow.

In fact, your mouth is not anywhere near him, or even open. You're on your knees searching through those _stupid, dorky _parachute pants with the pockets that go on _forever. And… _there! You've found it. Healing ointment, fresh from the Senju pharmacy.

Hashirama sees the jar in your hands and his eyes widen. "Oh, come on," he says, a little desperately, "You're not serious!"

"Any better ideas?" you grunt, and stand again.

"I am not putting that on my –!"

"Who ever said anything about you?" You chuckle quietly at his whimpers, and twist the cap off, letting it clatter to the floor. Because, see, Hashirama is a top. Hashirama is a top with his _entire being_, but hell if you're going to let him have all the fun – especially if this is the last time you'll ever…

No, you're not going to think about that. Not yet.

You slide your robe off your shoulders and dip your fingers into the ointment. It's soft, and smooth, and feels cold on your rapidly hardening cock. You can't fight back a tiny shiver, but Hashirama's face completely makes up for it.

"Are you sure that's sanitary?"

"Hashirama, you stick it in open _wounds._ Sticking it up your ass won't do anything."

"It'll sting!" he protests.

"So will taking you dry. Your choice."

"Oh come on," he says again, but he relents with a sigh.

You move towards him and let him take the ointment. He brushes his own fingers through it, then slides it over your cock, and you let out another shiver – this time not from the cold.

"What a waste," he bemoans. "Fukuyama-san worked very hard making that ointment. So sad."

"Shut the fuck up, you don't even care."

Another sigh – and then his fingertips are sliding up and down the bottom of your shaft, slowly, too slowly, but you can't say anything. He slides down a little further and drags them lightly over your balls.

It feels nice, but it's not enough. You grind your mouth against his lips and then he's pressed up on the wall again as you massage your cock roughly over his. Over and over and – yes, friction is _good._

You can hear him letting out little pants in between your teeth, now, and you bite back a grin. You think you like it like this. You think you like being in control over him – maybe a little too much.

Your right hand traces fast circles into his shoulder blades, faster faster, harder harder, digging into his skin. Your left is occupied just over his belly button. Excellent coordination is one of the perks of being a prodigy ninja, and so with that left hand you also make circles – but slow, easy, light, dipping down to just over his cock. He doesn't realize it, but he's slowly relaxing under you, just enough for you to spin him around so that his face is turned away from you.

The circles stop. Hashirama lets out a little whine at the loss.

You move to slide your hands across his ass – but he stops you with a shout.

"Wait!"

"What?" Dammit, he sure likes to talk. You wouldn't mind it, but it's getting annoying, even more so than usual as you watch him turn to face you once again.

He swallows, and _oh _you can practically _see _the dark cloud drift over him _fuck my life._

"What?" you say a little gentler.

Hashirama's eyes dart to the left. "It's nothing, really."

'Gentle' is ripped up, burned, and thrown into a hurricane. "Oh come _on _we are _not _doing this here!" you exclaim. "I've got it in writing! Do you want me to bring out the contract again? Do you _really_?"

"No," Hashirama nearly whimpers. "It's just that…"

"Just _what._"

"I want to see you," he blurts, quickly, all at once. And _there _he is. There's that kid you saw across the river. There's that kid who bested you in everything you did. There's that kid you gave everything for, when you didn't even know his name. There he is, and at once you are speechless and tired like old water.

You don't want to look at him. You don't want to see him, so clear and pure and bright, and know that this time is the last time. You want with all your being to say _no, _but you know the word on your lips can never be anything but _yes_.

"Alright," you say. "Okay."

You take him long and slow, like snow falling on a warm day. Soft and easy, and his voice is like a melody breaking in your ears, calling your name over and over like you are a _deity, _He's so much above you, and he would call you God himself, if you'd let him.

His eyes are bright and grateful and full and stare up at you till eternity. You can see… you can see so far into them, like they're deep wells that go on forever and ever, and… _fuck,_ you can't do this. He's looking up at you with those wide brown eyes, but you never once look at him.

Climax comes, and it's over. You've taken the last piece from him and given him nothing in return – but isn't that how it always goes?

He falls asleep with you at his side, his breathing heavy, and you lay like that for awhile. Then, sure he's not waking up anytime soon, you push him gently off of you and pull on your cloak. You'll see him once more, you think, and then you're not coming back for a very long time.

In the next room, breakfast lies cold on the table.

* * *

_owari_


End file.
